Hi everyone! The story is heating up! I think you'll enjoy this chapter! :-)
When Elizabeth returned to the ball room she did not have to feign being physically ill. She was shaking all over, trembling with the magnitude of what she had done. She feared that she might faint. She found the seat she had occupied only a few minutes before and sank into it, clenching and unclenching her fists and taking deep gulps of air. She had done what she could to protect both the Fleur and her family. Only one task remained: confessing everything to Darcy. Where was the colonel? He had said he would find her husband and bring him to her.
Jane, looking anxious, came to her side as soon as she spied her sister. "I was wondering where you were, Lizzy. Colonel Fitzwilliam is trying to find you. He seemed to think you were feeling ill." Jane took off one of her gloves to place a hand delicately on Elizabeth's forehead. "You are feverish. Where is Mr. Darcy? You should be at home."
There were footsteps behind Jane and then the colonel himself appeared. The regretful look on his face made her heart sink. "Here you are, Mrs. Darcy. I was concerned when I could not find you. I looked everywhere I could think of for your husband but was unable to locate him. Finally I made inquiries with the master of ceremonies and discovered that Darcy left some time ago."
There was a shocked pause. Then, "How could he leave without me?" Elizabeth was incredulous. "Where did he go?"
"Please, Mrs. Darcy, it is not as bad as it seems."
"How could it be any worse?"
"It is not personal, Mrs. Darcy. Sometimes business affairs arise that demand Darcy's immediate attention. This sudden coming and going is not out of character for him."
"But he went without any warning, in the middle of a ball!"
Elizabeth's emotions finally overwhelmed her and she burst into tears. Perhaps the colonel believed what he said, but all she could see in her mind's eye was the hurt look on Darcy's face just before he turned and walked away. The colonel had not seen that. She had risked her husband's anger, deceived the colonel, and betrayed the Fleur to his enemy, all to save her uncle's family. But what price had she paid?
Jane comforted her sister as best she could while Bingley made a few expressions of sympathy. The colonel took a seat next to her and waited for her tears to subside. When she had managed to regain control of herself, he spoke earnestly.
"Darcy would not leave like this without a good reason. He will be back before you know it, with an explanation that will convince you his mission was as urgent as it was unavoidable."
Bingley stepped up to offer his sister in law a handkerchief. "The colonel is right. Darcy's business sometimes calls him away at a moment's notice. I thought he made you aware of this before you married. Why, I cannot count how many times he has done the same thing to me!" He gave a short, forced laugh that was utterly unconvincing.
Elizabeth dabbed at her tears. "But you are involved in his business matters, are you not? Surely you have some idea of where he has gone and why. If you know, you must tell me!"
"I barely know anything about his business affairs, only what he chooses to tell me." Bingley answered somewhat weakly.
"And you, colonel," Elizabeth turned her attention to the man at her side. "You have known my husband all his life. You must know more than you are saying. Darcy's comings and goings over the years could not have completely escaped his family's notice!"
The colonel glanced sidewise at Bingley. "His business affairs only started taking him out of the country a few years ago."
"He is abroad?" Elizabeth grasped at the colonel's inadvertent admission. "Where has he gone? France?"
She did not miss the sharp look that passed between the colonel and Bingley. "Forgive me, I did not mean to imply any such thing." The colonel shook his head as if to clear it. "My family has never seen fit to question Darcy's comings and goings. He is a grown man; he can do as he likes. But I am certain he will tell you everything you want to know, once he returns. You must not take this to heart."
"Lizzy, you should go home." Jane broke in. "You need to rest. All of this will look better after you have had some sleep."
"We will go home as well," Bingley announced. "We can take you in our carriage, Lizzy."
"I would be glad to escort my cousin's wife," the colonel countered. "Darcy house is on my way, and there is plenty of room in my carriage. Plus I promised I would look after Mrs. Darcy in my cousin's absence."
Elizabeth looked up sharply. "I thought I understood you to say, colonel, that you had not spoken with my husband this evening?"
There was another quick look between the colonel and Bingley. "It is a standing arrangement. But if you would rather ride with the Bingley's, I shall not take offense."
Elizabeth was certain that he had let another important piece of information slip. Colonel Fitzwilliam had seen her husband earlier tonight but he was not willing to admit it to her. She wiped her tears away with a sudden burst of determination. "If you do not mind, I will go with you. I look forward to the chance to have more conversation."
In the colonel's spacious vehicle, Elizabeth did not wait long before resuming her attack on the colonel's defenses. "Tell me, colonel, are you involved in these business affairs of my husband's as much as Bingley is?"
The colonel gave her a quick, intense look from under his eyebrows. "At times, yes. A younger son must have some kind of occupation, you know."
"But a son with an extensive career in the army, even a younger son, must have quite enough occupation already. "
"I am under strict orders, madam, and a soldier always obeys orders. Right now my orders are to see you safely home."
"Come, colonel, I am Darcy's wife. Surely you can give me more details than that!"
The colonel crossed his arms and gave her a knowing smile. "Feel free to ask any questions you like, Mrs. Darcy. Of course I may also feel free not to answer them."
"Very well." She thought for a moment. "How long have you and my husband acted together in these business dealings of his?"
"All of his life, really. As I said before, a younger son must have something to occupy his time. My military career keeps me busy but I enjoy helping Darcy whenever possible."
He was still being evasive, she thought. "Doing what, exactly? How do you assist him?"
"Negotiating, carrying sensitive messages to and from his business partners, that sort of thing. It is far more lucrative and certainly less dangerous than my military assignments!"
"Is that all you do for him?"
"It is all I am prepared to tell you about. A gentleman has his honor, you know."
There was an air of finality in the colonel's voice, and a look in his eye that reminded her not to overstep her bounds. If she pushed the colonel too far, he might not be willing to speak with her at all. She could not afford that. She looked out the windows at the darkened streets passing by and tried to think of another vein of questioning, but the colonel's voice drew her attention back to him.
"Now it is my turn to ask you something, Mrs. Darcy. My cousin is not a rash man. If you truly think that he has left you for some reason, then you must think you did something to chase him away."
She was glad that the darkness in the carriage hid her face, so that he would not see the shame written there. "Darcy and I ran into an old friend of mine who repeated some rumors that she heard about me. She believed them. I think-" she gulped painfully, "I think my husband believed them too."
"What kind of rumors?" The colonel's voice was stern.
"That I only married him for his money."
"Is that all? It would not be the worst thing in the world if you did. Most of us have to marry with at least some attention to fortune. "
"And she said that-" she hesitated. "That I am actually in love with George Wickham."
Elizabeth was not prepared for the loud burst of laughter that came from the colonel. "Do you know Wickham?"
"As much as I care to! I have known Darcy his whole life, so of course I know Wickham as well. What a ridiculous idea! Why would my cousin ever think that you are in love with that pompous pretender?"
"I was rather . . . intrigued by him when we first met in Paris. But that was all. I realized very quickly that he is a dangerous man!"
"Wickham has a handsome face, along with a superficial charm that can deceive a naive, innocent girl. But he has no success with anyone who has already been in the world. Of course you saw through him in fairly short order. And if I know that, you can believe that Darcy does as well."
"Then why did he refuse to defend me to my friend? Why did he act as though he believed the rumors?"
"Why are you asking me?" the colonel countered. "Should you not be having this conversation with my cousin?"
"I tried to speak with him, but he walked away before I could say anything! Now he is gone and I do not know when I will see him again."
"May I give you a piece of advice? The next time you see your husband, talk to him. And this time, do not let him walk away from you until he listens!"
The colonel's words replayed in her head as Elizabeth wearily walked through the door of Darcy house. Though most of the house was dark, the faithful butler Benson was still at his post, opening the door for her and nodding at a footman to take her wraps. "Your maid is waiting for you upstairs, Mrs. Darcy."
"Thank you." She handed off her wraps as she turned towards the stairs, adding, "You do not have to wait up for the master. He has left town and will not be back for some time."
"I am aware of that, madam. He informed me of his departure himself."
"He did?" Elizabeth turned back, blinking in surprise. "Did my husband come home already?"
"Just for a few minutes, madam, long enough to retrieve his bags and attend to some correspondence. Then he went away in the carriage once again."
How odd. She had assumed he would go straight from the ball to wherever he went next, but it made sense that he would come home first. "Did he happen to mention where he was going?"
"No, ma'am. He never does."
"Was he already packed for a journey?"
"He always keeps a bag or two packed and ready to depart at a moment's notice," Benson answered with an air of surprise. Plainly he was under the impression that she was already aware of this fact, but he was too well trained to say such a thing.
"I had no idea." There was something happening here, something obvious that she should understand. The answer to her husband's precipitate behavior was in plain sight, if she just knew how to see it!
"He left a letter for you, madam, in his study."
Her heart leaped. "Truly?"
"On the desk, madam. Shall I fetch it for you?"
"No, I shall go there directly. Tell my maid that I will go upstairs as soon as I read the letter. Then you should retire. The hour is late and the household will need your attention tomorrow."
"Very good, madam."
Benson bowed and left her. She fought down the urge to run into the study but managed to walk in that direction with what she hoped was a modicum of dignity. She went straight to the oversized, ornate desk. A letter was there just as Benson had said, with her name plainly written on it in her husband's handwriting. But Darcy's usually precise script was hasty and careless. She ripped it open.
My dearest, loveliest Elizabeth,
An event of a most urgent nature has called me away and I may be gone for several weeks. Rest assured it is not my wish to be separated from you at this time. I commend you to my cousin's care until I return. I shall explain all then. Until then, I am your own
Fitzwilliam Darcy
N.B. I love you now more than ever.
Elizabeth paced the room up and down, all thoughts of sleep gone. She read the letter over and over again, searching for some clue in its few lines.
Why had her husband left so abruptly, and where had he gone? She felt certain that if she could determine the answer to either question, she would inevitably solve both.
This room, the study, was the last room Darcy had been in before taking flight earlier that evening. Darcy spent hours at a time in the room, usually with the door shut. After a moment of hesitation, she sat down behind the desk itself and looked around her carefully. Surely, if he had left any clue behind, she would find it here.
The desktop itself was clear, empty except for the quill, blotter, foolscap and extra nibs in one corner. She ran her hands restlessly over the polished wood. Where were Darcy's account books, the records of his expenditures for his business? Would he not keep those at hand, the easier to use them? Her father always kept his on top of his desk at Longbourn. She tried each of the drawers of the desk in turn, but they were all locked.
Thoughtfully she turned her eyes towards the one other part of the room that might contain written records: the bookcase. A few steps put her next to it, and she began to inventory its contents carefully.
The items in the bookcase appeared to be various histories of England, a few volumes of poetry, and a collection of maps. There was also, to her intense surprise, a work purporting to list ingredients for various elixirs and sleeping potions. She thumbed through its pages bemusedly. What possible use could her husband have for such a work? The binding was old and the pages fading. At length, after reading an inscription in the cover, she guessed that it had belonged to his father. Darcy must have kept it for sentimental reasons. A copy of The New Peerage rounded out the literary collection.
She was disappointed. Nothing of value had so far presented itself, but Elizabeth was determined not to give up. She could not rest, would not rest, until she had solved this mystery! She returned to the desk and tried each of its drawers more insistently this time. But as hard as she pulled, as much force as she put into it, the drawers remained stubbornly locked.
Elizabeth was about to give up when she happened to look up at the wall across from Darcy's desk. It was empty except for a portrait of some half forgotten ancestor, a dark eyed, thin man in a costume of armor. She remembered a trick her father had used to keep sums of money away from her mother. Mr. Bennet had just one locking drawer in the desk in his study, and at times he had hidden the key to it behind a painting that hung on the wall. Mrs. Bennet had eventually discovered the key and so the concealment no longer served a purpose. But the key was still in its hiding place. Was it possible that Darcy would use the same trick? She ran her hands under the frame and around the edges as high up as she could reach, probing each nook and cranny, but could find nothing.
Frustrated, she stepped back and stood in front of the portrait, eyeing it critically. She had never before paid much attention to it but now she noticed the name of the dark eyed ancestor in one corner: M. D'Arcy, with a date some two hundred years earlier.
How curious! Darcy was, of course, from a noble family on his mother's side; he had told her that in passing during the earliest days of their acquaintance. But he had never mentioned any familial connection with France! For such a name plainly was French; there was no denying that fact. How strange that she had never thought of Darcy's name being French before now. When and why had the D'Arcy family made their way into England?
Suddenly the inclusion of The New Peerage in Darcy's bookshelf took on a new significance. She whirled and looked at it from across the room. If Darcy's heritage were to be described anywhere it would be in those leaves! With shaking hands she lifted the book from its place and set it down on Darcy's desk. She turned the pages rapidly until she found the confirmation she sought: the D'Arcy name was both ancient and noble, having arrived in the country some four hundred years earlier. Over the years D'Arcy had turned to Darcy. The title that once accompanied the name was now extinct, but the family still remained!
Elizabeth sat back in the chair, utterly bewildered. So Darcy was French! Or at least his family had been French, many years ago. But what of it? Why did it matter, she asked herself. Many an English family had French blood in their veins, including her own. But she could not help feeling that this was more than just a matter of family history, more than just a subject for idle conversation during balls and assemblies. There was something oddly significant about Darcy's French heritage, something that spoke in the deepest recesses of her mind but was not yet ready to emerge and be recognized.
The stern gentleman in the portrait stared down at her, unblinking. Look at me, he seemed to say. Look at me and do not look away until you find it. The answer you seek has been before you the whole time!
It was then that the necklace Darcy had given her earlier, the locket with the likeness of a woman, came apart in her hand. She had been clasping it in her hand while her mind went over and over the pieces of this strange puzzle, and without meaning to she had pulled too strongly against the clasp of the chain that held it in place. She had not even been aware of how tightly she was holding it. Now the necklace was in her hand, with the front side against her palm. She looked down in surprise at the back of the locket and noticed for the first time a detail she had never seen before: the imprint of a lily.
Suddenly a connection came to her mind, one that had never been significant before. As she considered it, the coincidence grew larger and larger until its importance could no longer be denied: the name of this flower, in French, was the fleur de lis. Darcy had given her a family heirloom containing the image of a fleur de lis!
"Dear God in heaven!" she heard herself exclaim, as a pattern of facts began to rapidly come together in her mind.
Darcy spoke fluent French. He had a pattern of strange comings and goings at odd times, with no real explanation. His "business affairs" meant that he was able to come and go at will without drawing attention. She had never been with Darcy at the same time when the Fleur de Lys was known to be active in the area. Lastly, he himself was not just the nephew of a noble family in England, but the descendant of a French noble family, which would give him an even greater motive to travel to France repeatedly and rescue nobles who were in danger of losing their lives. Why had she not seen this before? She had been blind, utterly blind!
But was Darcy capable of the disguises, the cleverness, the sheer elan that the Fleur de Lys had demonstrated over and over again?
Yes! The answer came resounding into her mind as she recalled their daring flight from Paris on the day of their wedding, in plain sight of half the city, under the very noses of the soldiers at the gate! She recalled how he had appeared out of nowhere to rescue her and Jules off the streets of Paris in the face of an angry mob, with a familiarity with the twisting alleys and side streets that made perfect sense now. Even their first positive interaction had been when she and Darcy both leaped to the defense of a homeless, orphaned child.
Her husband, Fitzwilliam Darcy, was himself the Fleur de Lys, the bravest and most noble man she had ever known! And she had betrayed him to his worst enemy!
So . . . now that Elizabeth knows the truth, what will she do? What would you do? Please leave a comment and let me know. I LOVE reading your feedback! The next chapter comes in three weeks. Until then, stay healthy and safe! -Elaine Owen